Broken Things
by damnedscribblingwoman
Summary: A witch walks into a wedding. A meddling friend, a stiff drink, and one ex-husband later, she walks out again.


**AN: This was originally written for DramioneLove's Mini Fest 2016. The prompt was "Merlin, put on a shirt!"**

 **I picked out this prompt fully intending to write something funny. Honest to god. When I was discussing titles with my beta, he suggested "Broken Ties." I turned it down as "too dramatic." His reply to that was, "Have you read what you wrote?!" Point taken, Raistlin. Point taken.**

 **Thank you to those who voted for it for Best Drama Fic.**

 **I hope you enjoy it. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**

* * *

The ceremony was already underway when Hermione arrived. Glad to have walked in undetected, she took a seat on the otherwise empty back row, but not two minutes had passed when a familiar voice whispered in her ear, "Four months without a word. Shame on you, Granger."

Hermione turned to Ginny with a smile and hugged the other witch.

"I've been busy."

"Rubbish. You just wait until my mother sees you. You'll get a well-deserved earful." Someone two rows down shushed them, but Ginny ignored them. "Have you seen—"

"Yes."

She had seen him the moment she walked in. Front row, impeccably dressed, standing next to the svelte, blonde form of Astoria Greengrass.

"Harry shouldn't have invited him."

"It's also Pansy's wedding," Hermione said, reasonably. "You could hardly expect _her_ not to invite him."

"Pansy Parkinson-Potter." Ginny shook her head in disapproval. "Whatever possessed you lot to start marrying Slytherins, I'll never know."

Hermione chuckled. "How's Blaise doing?"

"Silly boy hasn't proposed yet. I may have to take matters into my own hands." She paused, before adding, "Which is entirely besides the point. Say the word and Malfoy will disappear in mysterious circumstances, never to be heard of again. I can do that. I know people."

Hermione scoffed. "You know Fred and George."

"Precisely." Ginny grinned.

Hermione smiled back, but shook her head. "Draco and I are fine. People get divorced. That's life."

* * *

The only thing the wedding reception had going for it was the open bar, but Hermione barely had time to enjoy it before a waiter walked up to her with a note that said only, '34A'. Without giving Ginny time to ask questions she had no wish to answer, Hermione excused herself and went in search of room 34A. It didn't take much searching.

She hesitate only for a second before knocking. It was a bad idea, but that had never stopped her before.

Draco opened the door just enough to let her in, locking it again behind the witch.

"Merlin, put on a shirt," she said, taking in the sight of him.

His smug grin was all too familiar. "Why, when it's only going to come off."

"You're too sure of yourself."

"I know my wife," he said, pinning her against the wall.

"Ex-wife," she corrected, smiling despite herself.

"Details," he whispered before kissing her, a kiss that still took her breath away, even after five years of marriage, two years of divorce, too many fights and a child they would never see grow up. The whole world disappeared in that one kiss.

When he pulled her towards the bed, she followed, not once thinking she ought not to.

* * *

Everything was quiet in the hotel room, the only noise being the distant cacophony of revellers out on the street. Someone — maybe Seamus, most likely the twins — had decided fireworks were in order.

"Where does Astoria think you are?"

Draco, who had been about to doze off, opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.

"Back in London." He grinned, mischievously. "I'm a very busy man."

Hermione did not smile back. After a few seconds, she asked, "Are you going to marry her?"

"Probably." Draco brushed a stray curl away from her face. "If not you, why not her? Would you have me stay alone and miserable, forever pining for my lost love?"

"Yes."

Yes, she would, and it cost her nothing to admit that piece of selfishness.

"Well, I won't."

Hermione held his gaze for a few moments before suddenly getting up, away from the warmth of his skin, away from the silky touch of the sheets, away from his cold grey eyes.

"Come on," he said, getting up as well. "You don't get to be mad about this. _You_ divorced _me_."

"I'm not mad, I'm leaving." Hermione looked around for her discarded clothes.

"Well, what a shocking plot twist," Draco said, reaching for his pants.

Hermione shot him a murderous look, but decided to ignore his sarcasm.

"And where to, this time?" he continued. "America? Africa? Maybe Australia? How far is far away enough?"

"I don't want to argue."

"You never want to argue, Hermione. You just leave. It's what you do best."

Hermione scanned the room for her purse. She had it with her when she arrived, she was sure of it.

"Will you at least look at me when I'm talking too you?"

"Let go," she ordered, shaking her arm free of his grip.

"It's been three years. At some point you'll have to—"

"To what?" she snapped. "Get over it? Is that what you meant to say? I'm sure you could tell me all about that."

"Oh, fuck you," he all but screamed. "He was my child too. Do you think it was easy for me? That it has been easy? You don't have a monopoly on grief, Granger."

Hermione looked away, knowing that anything she might say would be petty, and spiteful, and unjust. Draco had tried so hard during those horrible days after the funeral to take care of her, to make sure she ate, to make sure she slept, to make sure she kept on breathing when she badly wanted to stop.

She could still not forgive him for that. For having managed to keep his head above water when she couldn't.

"I lost him too, Hermione," Draco said, no longer looking at her. "And then I lost you."

The heartbreak in his voice went straight to her heart, and it was all Hermione could do not to reach out to him. Because that would be more cruel than anything she had done up to then. She couldn't stay. She wouldn't stay. And she had to stop picking at old wounds every time they started to scab over. For both their sakes.

"I'm sorry," she said only, because she was. For more things than she had words for. Without giving herself time to regret it, she grabbed the elusive purse and made towards the door.

"Don't go," Draco pleaded.

Hermione looked back at him, her beautiful man who looked so much like their beautiful boy. She loved him and she hated him; she hated how much he reminded her of what they had lost. And she hated herself for it. Most of all, she hated his stricken expression and that she had put it there.

She closed the space between them and cupped his face with her hands, kissing him. She tried to put in that one kiss all the things she could not say. Things like, _I love you_. Things like, _I'm sorry and I love you. I miss you and I love you. Wait for me._

 _Wait for me._

 _Wait for me._

"Don't marry Astoria," she said only, before moving away and walking out.


End file.
